


Paint over my feelings, let it dry

by Ad_Nihilo



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: F/M, M/M, extremely vague reference to m/m chrobin, i accidentally wrote kiran as ambiguous gender so interpret as you will, i may have exaggerated kiran's home country lolol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Nihilo/pseuds/Ad_Nihilo
Summary: Alfonse finds it best not to get too attached to heroes, and Kiran follows that philosophy suit.They both fail miserably.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to write 'the h/c fic where alfonse panics at artist!kiran saying "i want to take a bit of askr with me when i go home" and destroys his art in a very possesive attempt to keep him at askr' and it ended up like... this? I don't trust my writing skills (lack of thereof)
> 
> lol, anyway, this is literally my first serious attempt at a fic so critique is greatly appreciated

From day one, your eyes locked onto the vibrant color of this world and you were hooked.

Askr and America were different, starkly so. Where the grass was a matted dull shade, water ran brown in the canals and the skyscrapers pierced only skies of grey clouds, dirtied day after day until it clotted grey and black.

You wonder if one day they’ll have need to seal it off like they did in Midgar.

From the first moment you drew in a breath of crisp, fresh air you knew it was too good to be true, your eyes were playing tricks on you, an illusion projected from the fantasies you struggled so hard to get on countless discarded canvases. When a familiar face greeted you, introducing herself with no clue you already knew whom she was, that’s when you decided.

You are going to make the most out of this dream.

-

They call you Kiran.

You never lied to them; after all your precise words were _“Call me Kiran,”_ not “ _My name is Kiran_.” Your birth name reeks of reality, of a world you had no wish to recollect when there was a world of dreams and hope right in front of you. You pull your hood down but hold your head up high, proudly bearing the name you gave yourself.

You’re afraid, should they know your true identity, that the dream will shatter.

-

This isn’t a game to them, and it shouldn’t be to you- not anymore.

But you still find it in yourself to smile. The gravel makes a crunch under your boot as you march with Alfonse; he watches you with rapt attention as you kick the pebbles off-road, and you can’t help but turn.

“Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head, his line of sight never leaving the shadow of your hood. He has attempted to take a look at your face countless times, but has succeeded not once. All he ever sees is your mouth etched in an almost permanent grin.

You don’t need him to say it out loud to know he doesn’t trust you.

“Why are you on the battlefield? You’re not only our Summoner, but also our tactician. What if you were to fall?”

“I am here,” your answer sounds confident, almost rehearsed, and you’re not sure if he can hear the tremble in your voice, “because a tactician needs to adapt.”

“Pray do elaborate.”

You motion to the road beyond, where a bridge connects; the cavalier stationed there brands an axe, and though he shows no intent to move from his current position, you can see his gaunt hands tighten around the reins of his horse. You can both see Sharena and Anna from here, on the other side of the river- you take a moment to hold up your hand, palm open and fingers straight. Military signal is more than universal, you had learnt.

“I do not have skills equal to the High Deliverer. I do not ‘see things’ as he would word it; so it is imperative that I have the opportunity to observe the battlefield up close.”

The Askrian prince looks as though he’s choosing his next question, one out of many you spawned with a single answer. You wonder briefly if he thinks (knows? perhaps) that you’ll only string him further, further until he barely knows you at all.

“Alfonse. March forward.”

-

Anna doesn’t question why you use up so much gold on paint.

You frequently disappear from the castle after patrol, taking a canvas and palette with you to capture whatever sight has caught your fancy the most- the real struggle, truth be told, is sneaking it back into the castle without anyone knowing.

You can’t help but admire the beauty of Askr, of this world. Your heart had always been crying out for something like this, starved of the life and hope and innocence that the real world could never satisfy you with, and would drown, drown, die. If you could, you would no doubt stay forever, but you couldn’t. They won’t need you after the war is over. Anna has already implied they will send you back.

At the very least, you hope you can bring a part of Askr home with you when that time comes.

-

The doubtful look on the prince’s face implies the answer he expects.

But you like messing with his opinion on you, and besides, it’s not good for morale if the tactician is mean to his troops.

“Sure, I don’t see why not. The gate is already open, after all.”

Alfonse’s jaw drops, but he pulls it back up before anyone can see; or so he believes.  After all, he has never so much seen where your eyes wander. Instead he composes himself, and nods. “We shall begin the search immediately.”

The four of you scour the world of Awakening once more, but truth be told, you already knew you wouldn’t find Zacharias. Zacharias is a man with knowledge of the Askrian and Emblan Kingdoms, whom would no doubt be able to find a means to traverse the worlds or at least send word that he was alive- a man like that had to be hiding from them, not simply missing. If in the unlikely case he were dead, then the corpse would to this day be gone. You don’t mention that, of course.

You have no right to take away Alfonse’s hope just because you lost yours so long ago.

-

He finds you teetering between wake and sleep in the castle garden that evening, canvas beside you, the garden painted in dozens of colourful shades to match the flora that are lulling you to sleep without you knowing.

“Kiran.” The smile on his face is playful, kind. It suits him. You briefly wonder why he’s so kind to everyone, but remind yourself that this is not necessarily a dog-eat-dog world.

“Alfonse…” you reply with a slur in your voice. He takes a cursory glance at your painting, then, to your horror, redirects his blue-green eyes to you. He raises his ungloved hand to your cheek, as though to peel your hood off.

“Please, don’t.”

“I was not going to.”

He wipes away the tears sliding down your cheek that you didn’t realize were there, still staring, but never going past the established line.

“Why do you hide your face?”

Your eyes dart away, refusing to look at him. “I’m ugly.”

“Kiran.”

There is a firmness in his voice that wasn’t there before- still kind, understanding, but with a somewhat desperate urgency, like he was begging you, please, _please stop pushing me away._ “I know you of all people care not for such superficial imperfection. Please, tell me why.”

“I’m serious. One look at my face and you’ll be disgusted.”

“I know you know I don’t care.”

You don’t reply for a while, because you know Alfonse, you know he’s right. For a blank, peaceful moment, everything was quiet but the rustling of the grass and the whisper of the wind, and you choked back a quiet sob just so everything could stay like this, even for just a moment.

-

_Miscalculation._

Veronica fires her spell straight and true, a sickly saturated green. The triumphant look on her face overrides her discomfort of riding Xander’s steed- they had been stalling behind the pillars for some time now, and it was far too late when you finally realized what they had been doing.

Alfonse resisted her spells, and you positioned him to bar her way- but she’s not after Alfonse.

There isn’t enough time to consider a plan, and erratic impulse takes over- you sharply pull Sharena back, pushing her to the side just in time before your sight is engulfed in white.

_Wake up._

-

“Are you an idiot?”

You find Alfonse at your side when you wake, and those are the first words he speaks to you; and you cannot help but laugh.

He doesn’t look angry. He looks sad, pained, worried.

In a way, you’d rather he be angry at you than burden him with these feelings.

“Is Sharena okay?”

“Kiran!” He sounds absolutely exasperated. “You’ve been unconscious for _more than a week_ and you can’t even be concerned over your own wellbeing?!“

“…nope. How’d the battle go without me around?”

Alfonse makes a whining noise, then buries his face in your neck, holding you tight. You vaguely register that you don’t have your cloak on. “Please don’t ever do that again. I- we can’t lose you. Please, promise me this, Kiran. Just this one thing- _please_.”

His plea reminds you a little of the Exalt of Ylisse, begging his own tactician to never sacrifice himself, a promise made only to be broken when the time comes. It is with a heavy heart you close your eyes and whisper _okay_ , if only to put Alfonse at ease.

You vaguely wonder if a painting of Alfonse would be enough to calm your aching heart, should the day come you are sent home.


End file.
